Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Law released a low whistle. “What did Mrs. Warren say?”

  “No. No. No. The lady made it perfectly clear she held no interest in becoming the mistress of Huntingborne Abbey.”

  Law said cautiously, “It was not the most romantic of proposals. From what Arabella has shared, Mrs. Warren’s first joining was a loveless one.”

  “I am not in love with the woman,” Carter insisted.

  His brother leaned into the chair’s cushions. “Are you certain?”

  Carter mustered enough resolve to meet his brother’s searching expression. “Absolutely. I can never love another. Not in that manner. It would be too dangerous. Someone could use the person I affect to reach me.” The women of his acquaintance concentrated their efforts on landing a titled husband. “It would be better if I must marry to seek a political connection, one such as those, which Louisa has suggested. Love would only complicate my desire to succeed Pennington,” He said with little apology, but his mind went to the unmistakable physical reaction he always felt when Lucinda Warren was near.

  “As you say, Carter. Perhaps your leaving is best for everyone.”

  Despite his protestations, he had hoped Mrs. Warren would see him off, but only Law and Arabella stood upon the manor’s steps. The memory of her walking with him before Huntingborne’s entrance clung to him with bittersweet longing. It seemed a century prior. Could it only have been a month? “I have asked Mr. Watkins to return the let coach to Kent,” he explained, as his eyes swept each window praying to see her countenance one last time. It pained him to find each one empty. “I have spoken to Charleton, and the earl assures me he has earned Mrs. Warren’s permission to act in her stead. The lady’s uncle appears quite content at having his family restored to him.” A twinge of guilt for failing her shot through Carter.

  Law nodded his agreement. “Charleton has expressed similar sentiments to me. He plans to return to Lancashire on Monday.”

  Carter spared a swift glance toward the still opened doorway, but he knew she would not come. No other woman had ever affected him as had Lucinda Warren. The idea of how quickly he had come to depend on her scared the wits from Carter. Yet, at the same time, he recognized the perfection of his need for the lady. “Then it is time I am away,” he said reluctantly.

  Law extended his hand. “Be safe.” It was what his brother had always said as Carter planned to depart. The familiarity brought another round of regrets.

  Bella was more demonstrative in her farewells. “You must write often,” she instructed as she wrapped her arms about his waist. “I am forever fearful. Do not remain away too long,” she whispered. “Worrying is not good for a woman enciente.”

  Carter glanced to where Law looked on. His brother’s smile told the truth of Bella’s words. Carter laughed freely. “You must get thee to the dowager house,” he declared dramatically. “With Louisa in lying in November, Maria in early January, and you in…”

  “December,” Lawrence supplied the missing information.

  Carter exclaimed enthusiastically, “And you in December, I imagine the baroness has already set sail from Italy.”

  Law admitted, “We received a letter before we departed Scotland. Depending upon the weather, Blakehell and mother will return by mid July. I thought it best we return to Blake’s Run and set up house elsewhere before the baron could take up his manipulations.”

  Carter nodded earnestly. “Excellent choice. Mother will be distracted with adding to the family, and the baron will be free to amuse himself. Do not permit our father to love you so much he destroys you.”

  Law flinched with Carter’s pronouncement, but his brother said, “I have learned my lesson, and if I should slip into my old ways, Arabella has my permission to sharpen her shrewish tongue upon my back side.”

  Carter added with a bark of laughter, “I remain your witness, Bella.”

  His sister in marriage smiled easily. “I am pleased the Lowery men find me capable of taming the elder.”

  Carter looked up to find Mr. Watkins toting a large metal case. “Yes, Watkins.”

  “Mrs. Warren’s case, Sir. It be locked in the space beneath the coach’s bench. Thought it best to return it to the lady before I set out for Kent. That is unless ye wish me to send it on with the remainder of the lady’s belongings.”

  Carter hesitated an instant. He could use the box, which he recognized as the one holding her father’s papers, as an excuse to see Mrs. Warren again, but the wary expression on his brother’s countenance told Carter not to venture into the fray again. “It appears foolish to ferry the box to Kent only to ship it north again. I am certain Lord Charleton will find room in his carriage for Mrs. Warren’s belongings.”

  Law announced, “Mrs. Warren is in the blue drawing room. Ask Mr. Malcolm to show you the way, Watkins.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Carter watched his man disappear into the depths of Blake’s Run. After another awkward pause, he mounted. “I mean to return to Suffolk to recapture the smugglers’ trail, then I am to London.”

  “Shall you not call in at Kent?” Arabella asked in concern.

  “There is nothing at Huntingborne for me now.”

  Lucinda had worked hard not to fidget under her uncle’s steady gaze. Each breath caught in her throat. The familiar call of loneliness had returned. She had wanted nothing more than to beg the baronet to remain at Blake’s Run–for another day–another week. Not to leave until it was necessary for them to part. She could see him in her mind’s eye: the immobile lines of his back–straight and proud and ever so determined. Despite her despondency, one side of her mouth curled into a faint smile.

  She forcibly swallowed a pang of regret. “When might we leave for Lancashire?”

  “Tomorrow is the Sabbath. Monday will be soon enough,” the earl said easily.

  Fighting to quell her heart’s thunder, Lucinda sighed heavily. Dutifully, she reminded herself to count her blessings, but even as she did so her eyes shot to the clock. Surely Sir Carter must have departed. A light tap on the door sent her heart reeling.

  “Come,” the earl ordered.

  The door opened to reveal Mr. Watkins. “Pardon me, Your Lordship,” he said with an awkward bow. “Mrs. Warren. But I be settin’ out for Kent; yet, ‘fore I do, I thought to bring ye yer box from the coach, Ma’am.”

  Never had she felt so alone: The box would be her last excuse to see Sir Carter again. Realizing the earl’s eyes watched her every reaction, Lucinda smiled at the coachman. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Watkins. If you will leave the box on the table, I shall have it delivered to my quarters.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The man bowed again. “Hopefully, we will see ye and Master Simon in Kent agin soon, Ma’am.”

  Despair slipped over her, and Lucinda tasted bitterness. “I think not, Mr. Watkins. Simon and I will be residing with His Lordship in Lancashire.”

  A final bow announced the coachman’s exit. “Of course, Ma’am. Best wishes.” And then he was gone. She regretted his departure for Mr. Watkins was a man who had placed himself between her and danger simply from loyalty to his master. Lucinda doubted ever to know such allegiance again.

  “What is in the box, Lucinda?” the earl asked in curiosity.

  She blushed thoroughly. “The colonel’s papers. I managed to retrieve them before I departed Brussels.”

  Cautiously, he asked, “What do they contain?”

  Her color deepened. “I am sad to say I do not know. I could never muster the courage to read them. My father’s loss was too fresh, and then as time passed, I thought it disrespectful to his memory to read the colonel’s most private thoughts.”

  Her uncle ventured, “Perhaps it is time. I cannot imagine Roderick keeping a journal. My brother was not a sentimental man. If Roderick retained only certain items, he deemed them important.” Charleton paused awkwardly. “We could read them together. When the late earl made arrangements for Roderick’s marriage and mine, I lost more than a woman I affe
cted. I lost my brother, the other half of my childhood. If Roderick’s papers, even dull letters of business, can fill in the gap between us, I would relish reading them. That is if you do not think my doing so is too reprehensible.”

  She felt the color drain from her face. Lucinda pretended to flick link from her gown. One part of her felt permitting Charleton access to the colonel’s private correspondence was the ultimate betrayal, while another part told her not to offend the man willing to open his home to her and Simon. “If you would not term it as an affront, Sir, perhaps I might read them first before permitting your perusal. It is a duty I should perform on my own.”

  The earl swallowed hard, obviously in disappointment. “Of course, my Dear. Whatever you think best.”

  Monday, he thought as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge. Monday, the day Lucinda Warren was to travel north with her uncle. Monday, the day that would end any hope to which Carter still clung. For six and fifty hours, his emotions had warred over the correct thing to do regarding the lady, and with each argument, he had come to the same conclusion: He should stay away from Mrs. Warren. The lady required time to settle to her new life–a life, which held no place for him. Yet, as often as Carter heard the words bouncing about in his head, just as often he recognized his heart would cease to beat if that scenario occurred.

  A sharp rap announced John Swenton’s arrival. The baron had been following Jamot’s trail while Carter had been with Mrs. Warren. Pulling on his breeches, Carter made his way to the door. “It is about time,” Swenton grumbled as he pushed past Carter.

  “Good morning to you, Swenton.” Carter resentfully closed the door behind his friend. He understood how much the baron wished to be at home on his Yorkshire estate. They were the last of their unit, the last to know the satisfaction of claiming family. Unlike Carter, Swenton had no siblings, and his parents had long since disappeared from the baron’s life. In Pennington’s eyes, Swenton had the least to risk, making the baron a valuable asset. What the Realm leader had overlooked was how Swenton’s “aloneness” placed the barony in danger of slipping through John’s hands.

  If something happened to Carter, the Lowery name would survive. He was the spare. And if Arabella delivered forth a son, Carter was third in line. The Lowerys would continue on without him, but Swenton’s estate would fall into the hands of a distant cousin, one who John Swenton loathed. Yet, Carter, too, had had enough of cheap inns, dirty clothes, and intrigue, and his sympathy had been worn thin.

  “I require a meal and a bath and a real bed,” Swenton grumbled. “After that, perhaps my good humor will return. You do realize it rained all night, do you not? I sat in a muddy puddle of rainwater and waited for that crazy Baloch to show, which he did not, by the way.”

  Carter shrugged away his friend’s bad mood. “I will summon the innkeeper. Would you prefer to eat here or below stairs?”

  “I have already given the man orders, and I refuse to climb those steps again,” Swenton declared. “We will break our fast here. I also mean to claim your bed for a few hours. The inn keep swears he has no rooms available.” Swenton scrubbed away his exhaustion with his dry hands.

  “Then I suppose I should dress. Who is keeping watch? Monroe?”

  Swenton scowled. “Yes, the all-too-willing-to-please Dylan Monroe has taken over for me. You know, Lowery, there is something odd about that man. Have you ever noticed how he seems to be wherever Jamot is sighted? Is it possible the Baloch has found an informant? Whenever a man is too anxious for a confrontation, my hackles take on an edge.”

  Carter’s frown lines met. He said stiffly, “I had not thought of the possibility. Monroe came aboard after Pennington reconnected with Godown’s aunt. He was recommended by Lord Sidmouth.”

  The baron’s countenance held the expression of defeat. “Could Sidmouth have his spies in the other departments of the Home Office? Rumors say His Lordship employs provocateurs to search out sedition among the English citizenry.”

  “But why spy on British spies?” Carter argued, but he could easily imagine Sidmouth doing so.

  Swenton rotated his shoulders to drive away exhaustion. “Who is to say? With Pennington’s eventual withdrawal, perhaps Sidmouth has another candidate for the position. Mayhap Monroe is to identify your weaknesses. Or there is the possibility His Lordship means to combine the departments over which he has control. Disbanding the Realm could save a sizeable expense.”

  Carter held his breath. His jaw tightened. Had Swenton stumbled upon an idea Carter had long suppressed? What was the Realm’s future? Could he continue its greatness? Would it crumble under his watch? “After you have bathed, we will discuss this further.” Carter slid his arms into his shirt and let it drop over his head and shoulders. “Thank you, Swenton,” he said thoughtfully. “Your keen sense of rightness has opened my eyes to a likelihood I have relentlessly denied.”

  While his friend slept, Carter reorganized his men in the area, having them concentrate their investigations on Jamot’s associates rather than on the Baloch himself. He purposely did not speak to Monroe for he wished to observe his aide more closely. He drafted a letter to Pennington in which he used a secret code, of which only five men were aware. In it, he fabricated details of Jamot’s sightings, as well as Carter’s suspicions, regarding an unnamed aristocrat involved in the smuggling ring. He would ask Monroe personally to deliver the message to Pennington. Adding the innocuous words of “wherewithal” and “extraordinary” in relation to Dylan Monroe, without raising notice was a much harder task than Carter had anticipated. However, he supposed it was why Pennington had chosen the words, used within a certain order, to inform the reader something was amiss with the messenger.

  In late afternoon, Carter looked up to see Swenton enter the private room. “You appear more congenial,” he said blandly.

  The baron slid into the opposing seat. “Appearances hold deception,” he grumbled. He reached for the knife and hard cheese to cut away the crust. “What is my assignment this evening?”

  “I expect you to find your own bed and know additional rest.” Carter did not look up from his papers, but he heard Swenton’s quick intake of air, indicating the baron’s surprise. “Your eyes speak of distress, John. Is everything aright with your estate?”

  The baron did not respond immediately. “Marwood Manor is prospering. Thankfully, I made shipping investments, which proved profitable and held us together during the last two harvests.”

  “Then what troubles you, Swenton?” Carter met his friend’s gaze. “As always I am your servant and your confidant.”

  The baron shifted as if uncomfortable. “Someone for whom I care dearly has taken ill,” he confessed.

  “The lady in Vienna?” Carter asked cautiously.

  Swenton shook his head in the negative. “No, not the one I visit regularly.” Carter again wondered if the mysterious woman with the Austrian connection was the baron’s mother. None within their unit knew the truth of Swenton’s childhood. Rumors surrounded the former baroness’s speedy exit from her marriage, but John Swenton had never spoken more than a few dozen words regarding the scandalous affair. “It is someone who does not welcome my protection.”

  Carter could sympathize with his friend’s sentiments. “All we can do under such circumstances is to recruit another to act in our stead.” As you did with the Earl of Charleton, he chastised. “Have you considered a family member who could lend the necessary assistance? Or a companion, as Berwick has done with his brother Trevor? The earl has promised Jeremy Ingram a settlement and a future position for Mr. Ingram’s service to Trevor Wellston.”

  His friend stood to use the scene outside the window as a distraction. The clock accented the passing seconds. Finally, Swenton said softly, “It is a lady, who brings worry to my door, but Berwick’s principle could prove useful. I could hire a genteel lady to serve my friend and later present the woman with a suitable dowry or a settlement after a few years’ service. I will take the idea under consider
ation.” The baron returned to the table. “Thank you, Lowery. At least, I have the beginnings of a plan.” He poured a glass of wine. “And how goes your latest adventure with the lovely Mrs. Warren?”

  It was Carter’s turn to squirm. “I have taken my own advice: I have placed Mrs. Warren and Simon in the capable hands of her uncle, the Earl of Charleton.”

  “Amazing,” Swenton said in awe. “I half expected you to make your addresses to the woman.”

  Carter schooled his expression. He spoke slowly, every word controlled. “The lady and I often disagreed. We would never suit,” he announced hurriedly and returned to his papers. Carter had wrestled with his indecision for days, and although he was proud of his restraint in the situation, he could not say the words pleased him. Instead of being the shrew he had portrayed her to be, Lucinda Warren was everything he wanted in his life. The realization tightened his throat.

  He glanced up to see Swenton grinning at him appreciatively. “Welcome to the world of lost causes,” his friend said wryly. “However, if your stars change, do not hesitate to call upon me. I quite enjoyed playing cupid on Viscount Lexford’s behalf.”

  Lucinda had packed her meager belongings before making an appearance in the morning room. Although her uncle had said they would depart early this morning, the earl’s valet had indicated his master had taken to his bed earlier than anticipated the previous evening with a severe headache. “Lord Charleton has suffered from headaches his entire life.” Mr. Priest whispered when she had answered the man’s light knock upon her chamber door.

  “I understand,” she said sympathetically. “My father, the colonel, suffered likewise. Is there anything I might do to ease Uncle Gerhard’s discomfort?”